


Red is our Colour

by zenonaa



Category: Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 17:49:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17533343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenonaa/pseuds/zenonaa
Summary: '“Crawling through it made me feel like a spy, or a cadet going through drills,” adds Sayaka. Mukuro gives a start.“I wouldn’t know about those, being a gyaru and all,” says Mukuro quickly, and in an attempt to appear ditzy and cute, she bobs her head from side-to-side, trying to get her blond pigtails to bounce. “See, being so famous and stalked, I became really good at finding escape routes in seemingly sealed areas.”'Sayaka and Mukuro escape the mutual killings before they properly start.





	Red is our Colour

The sky is red.

“The sky is red,” says Sayaka.

Mukuro pauses mid-stroke, sitting on the most comfortable lump of debris in the former house, her knife resting against the stone slab in her other hand. Up ahead, Sayaka stares out of a paneless window with her back toward Mukuro.

“Yeah,” says Mukuro softly, and when Sayaka doesn’t reply, silence threatens to press down as oppressive as the smog that hangs in the air. 

Though they aren’t wearing them at the moment, they brought gas masks when they left the school, clammy rubber that grasps their faces like a sweaty palm. Well, Mukuro brought them - they belonged to her, and she had packed them along with other things she thought they’d need when she and her chosen comrade escaped the school not long after the mutual killings commenced.

Junko would have realised by now. Mukuro tries to picture Junko’s face, but as much as she likes to think she’d know how Junko would react, she can’t imagine an expression or even a face, just a blank slate, wild blonde pigtails like the ones that Mukuro’s wig has and fingernails the colour of blood.

Ah, who’s Mukuro kidding; Junko must be pissed. Right?

“Maybe we should get moving again soon,” says Sayaka as if reading Mukuro’s mind. She wrings her hands. “Whoever captured everyone might send people after us. We shouldn’t stay in one place for long.”

Not like their former classmates, still stuck in the building that used to be Hope’s Peak, a four hour hike behind them. If Mukuro hadn’t thought to wear her military boots rather than a pair of Junko’s footwear, she thinks she would have twisted an ankle in that time, like Sayaka had two hours in. 

While bobbing in a piggyback ride, Sayaka had commented that Junko was strong for a gyaru, and Mukuro had nodded. The real Junko was back in the school with the others. 

They really need to find a television soon, to see what is going on, and because Mukuro shouldn’t but does miss her sister.

“We’re safer here than we are in there, right?” asks Sayaka in a savaged city, and she finally turns to Mukuro. Worry creases her face. She walks over and stands nearby, picking at her hands, leaving crescent indents in her fingers.

Mukuro blinks. The dim, dusty room holds its breath.

“Right?” says Sayaka.

Are they really safer now, though?

“Right,” repeats Mukuro.

Sayaka’s lips quiver, almost pushing out a smile. She wraps her arms around herself. “I still can’t believe that you found that secret tunnel.”

Her voice is light and tremulous, and her knees are scuffed and dirty.

“Crawling through it made me feel like a spy, or a cadet going through drills,” adds Sayaka. Mukuro gives a start.

“I wouldn’t know about those, being a gyaru and all,” says Mukuro quickly, and in an attempt to appear ditzy and cute, she bobs her head from side-to-side, trying to get her blond pigtails to bounce. “See, being so famous and stalked, I became really good at finding escape routes in seemingly sealed areas.”

It’s with understanding that Sayaka smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, smouldering in her gaze. Sayaka shifts a leg and angles her body away slightly. She casts her eyes toward the window with her lips still bearing that same subtle curve.

“I hope Naegi-kun’s okay,” Sayaka says, her voice a wisp.

Mukuro stares down at her knife. 

They can’t stay for much longer lest they risk being discovered by the wrong people, so within the next ten minutes, they head off with their gas masks on. A little further into the city ruins, a truck passes them, and Mukuro flags it down. 

“Can we ride in the back?” asks Mukuro.

The driver squints. “We’re headed to the nearest intact base, o’er in another city.”

“That’s fine,” says Sayaka. “Thank you.”

He lets them ride in the back of the truck with some other people, all looking worse for wear, and their road trip continues. Everyone shudders as the truck rumbles over the craggy road, and half an hour in, Sayaka leans her head on Mukuro’s shoulder. Mukuro tenses but she doesn’t shake her off, reminded of precious moments sprinkled throughout their first two years together. Those had been the reason why out of everyone, Mukuro had chosen Sayaka to come with her. From how Sayaka’s head lulls, Mukuro assumes that Sayaka has fallen asleep, and indeed, they ride for a while without exchanging a word, until suddenly, Sayaka pipes up.

“The sky is red.” Sayaka finds Mukuro’s hand and laces their fingers together. “Enoshima-san.”

Mukuro’s breathing hitches. Then,

“Yeah,” says Mukuro softly, squeezing back, and when Sayaka doesn’t reply, Mukuro leans into Sayaka some more, and they huddle like that for the rest of the journey.

**Author's Note:**

> another request


End file.
